A Prayer Answered
by Lady Osolone
Summary: This is the "Tullia" story mentioned by another autor on this list. Alternative ending - Maximus and Lucilla together and someone for poor old loony Commodus. Also fits in a bit with how REAL Commodus met his sticky end (ancient history grad. here!)


TITLE: A Prayer Answered  
AUTHOR: Kathlyn O'Brian  
DISCLAIMER: I am but a slave to the brilliance that is Dreamworks/Universal  
RATING: 12-ish. Sex but not graphic  
PAIRINGS: Maximus/Lucilla, Commodus/a character of my own invention!!  
CATEGORIES: Romance, violence, sex, sort of a happy ending  
SUMMARY: I've re-jigged the ending to make it a bit happier and it can also lead into what happened to the REAL Commodus (I'm an ancient history student at Uni. - check out my history lesson at the end! Sad, yes I know...)  
  
A Prayer Answered  
  
Lucilla watched from the Imperial box at the Coliseum. She was under heavy guard. Her throat was tight, and her skin prickled with heat. A bead of sweat trickled from within her elaborately arranged hair, tracking its way through the powder down her temple and cheek, where it mixed with a tear. She twisted and wrung her hands, heavily ornamented with jewelled rings, in the gold silk of her gown.  
  
Below her, in the Arena, the two most important men in her life were preparing to fight each other - to the death.  
  
Her brother, Lucius Aurelius Commodus, young Emperor of Rome, the "Roman Hercules" as he styled himself, cut a striking figure as he marched across the Arena floor, clad in dazzling white armour, the Imperial Insignia embossed on the chest-piece. A rich Cloak swung from his shoulders. The morning sunlight glinted on the golden diadem he wore on his glossy dark hair - the symbol of his rank, his immense, seemingly infinite power.   
  
He halted, and throwing wide his arms in an extravagant gesture turned in a circle, his face upraised to the roaring crowd, displaying his proud magnificence - ever the epitome of the showman. He was too far away for Lucilla to see his face but she could imagine his confident smile, the half-mad arrogance in his sea-green eyes, his handsome features set into an expression of determination as he waved his hand to the hundreds crammed into the Arena to see their Emperor. His citizens, his people. He basked in their love and their adoration. Love he craved desperately, with every inch of his insane being.  
  
Flanked by the Praetorian guard, his Prefects with their standards held high, he advanced like a predator to meet his opponent. Lucilla drew in her breath.  
  
Maximus. Her beloved Maximus. Stalwart and robust he stood, his broad, muscular figure emphasised by his armour, his leather tunic skimming his knees, strong legs browned by the sun. In one large, powerful hand he clutched his sword. Lucilla closed her eyes and pictured his rugged, bronzed face, his deep blue eyes, so different to her brother's pallor. Maximus' features would be as stone as he concentrated, preparing himself for combat. She did not know of the near-fatal wound that Commodus had secretly inflicted on his rival moments earlier, to weaken him, and ensure his downfall in the contest.  
  
Maximus had been the greatest General in the Western Empire, her father, Marcus Aurelius' beloved and trusted ally, and confidant. He should have become Emperor when her father died. Lucilla knew that Maximus had been her father's choice. How Commodus had managed to usurp his father's place she knew not but the rumours, the whispers and her own knowledge of the workings of her brother's mind had bred a chilling, growing suspicion that her father's sudden death from "illness" had been aided by the same hand which had arranged the murder of Maximus' wife and son, and led to the great General's descent into disgrace as a slave. Only Maximus' strength, determination, his skill in battle and, Lucilla suspected, a burning desire for revenge had led him here to Rome - in his role as the mysterious "Spaniard", Rome's favourite Gladiator.  
  
And now he faced his enemy across the Arena. The murderer of his family, the man who had tried to destroy him and all he loved. His Emperor.  
  
Commodus.  
  
Lucilla felt a light touch on her hand and glanced down to see her small son, Lucius, gazing up at her. He slipped his small hand into hers, both needing and offering comfort.  
  
"Mother?" he asked, studying her with his large blue eyes, so like her own. "What is wrong? Are you afraid for Uncle?"  
  
Lucilla fought back her tears and reached out to smooth her son's silky blond hair. She could never let him know how much danger he - and she - were in, from his uncle. The man who played with him, held him and professed to love him had threatened his young life and that of his mother's, if she ever dared to disobey or displease him.  
  
Commodus had a powerful and frightening obsession for her, she knew. Since being widowed and losing her father she had fallen totally under her brother's protection - and his power. He was deeply jealous of the love she held, as her father had, for Maximus. Maximus had been the son Marcus had dreamed of but never had. He was the only man Lucilla had ever really loved.  
  
And Commodus hated him for it. An intense, violent hatred that screamed out for destruction.  
  
Lucilla's troubled reverie was broken by the fanfare of trumpets announcing the commencement of the contest. She squeezed Lucius' hand. Down in the Arena her brother glanced up at her and smiled, a smile full of intention. Lucilla's gaze flickered over to Maximus and saw that he, too was watching her, quietly, sadly.  
  
Wondering if this was the last time he would ever look on her beautiful face in this world.  
  
The crowd grew quiet as the two opponents faced each other. Commodus' slaves unsheathed his sword and handed it to him. He raised it and waved it to the crowd, signalling his confidence, his self-assurance that all would go well for him. "After all" thought Lucilla, bitterly "he is the Emperor. How could it not?"  
  
She knew her brother was capable and skilled in combat. But even he could surely not defeat Maximus. Unless the gods were on his side.  
  
Or he had taken precautions to ensure his success.  
  
Maximus and Commodus faced each other, gaging each other's next move. Suddenly, swiftly, Commodus lunged at Maximus, the blade of his sword flashing in the sun as it aimed for Maximus throat. The ring of iron on iron filled the arena as Maximus expertly fended off the blow, quick as lightning. The crowd issued a sigh of excitement, and some relief.  
  
Commodus was their Emperor. But Maximus was their beloved champion.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *   
  
Behind Lucilla in the Imperial box sat her slaves, her maidservants, who always accompanied their mistress to the Coliseum, to tend to her and supply her with food, drink or anything else she may need. There were three of them. The youngest was a tall, willowy young Gaulish woman, with long ebony-black hair twisted up into an elaborate knot on top of her head, and tumbling over her shoulders. She wore little jewellery, save a golden Celtic torque around her neck, and one on her wrist. Her gown was simple, rich brown, secured at the shoulders with two copper brooches. She sat behind her mistress, her hands folded in her lap, silently, demurely, obediently watching the battle below her, waiting for any order that her mistress may give.  
  
Watching as the man she loved battled for his life in the Arena below.  
  
Tullia, for that was the name Lucilla had given her, finding her own Gaulish name too hard to pronounce, felt her heart rise to her mouth at every sound of metal hitting metal. Her view was not particularly good from behind her mistress, but she was able to make out the athletic white-clad figure of Commodus as he battled the huge Gladiator, the one they called the Spaniard. She had accompanied her mistress many times to the Arena and each time had cheered and applauded with the rest the Spaniard's many victories, willed for him to win against every opponent.  
  
But not today.  
  
Today he threatened to destroy her heart.  
  
She had been in love with Commodus ever since she had come to the Imperial Palace as a young girl of fifteen. He had been seventeen then, vigorous, handsome and charming. He was, it was often said, partial to his sister's maidservants and had often taken one of them into his bed.  
  
Although, in ten years, he had never seemed to notice her.  
  
There had always been those who dismissed him, claimed he was a disappointment to his father and a disgrace to the Imperial family, that he would never amount to anything. He adored his father, he adored his sister Lucilla, yet neither of them seemed to return his love with anything near the same intensity. Their affections were elsewhere.  
  
Tullia had seen the pain in Commodus' eyes, the longing to be loved, to be admired, treasured by his family, by Rome. That honour however, consistently went to others.  
  
He was a talented soldier, educated and intelligent, yet he was also selfish, cowardly, prone to fits of anger, spite and self-destructive despair. His sanity was in question by all who knew him. Yet, under it all, Tullia knew, lay deep pain, a feeling of rejection. A craving to be valued.  
  
And yet those he loved the most valued him the least. While one he barely even acknowledged valued him like her own life.  
  
His greatest hatred was for himself.  
  
Tullia had often longed to soothe him when she saw him sitting alone in his quarters at night, brooding, biting his nails, pacing the marble aisles, suffering. She had wished she could take him into her arms, comfort him, tell him how much she loved him - how much power he had over her. How a simple smile of kind word from him could light up her life for a week, while a cruel dismissal or a rebuttal could tear her in half.  
  
One night, several weeks ago, she had arrived at her Mistress's suite of apartments with the customary warm drink of spiced wine her Mistress took each night before bed. Tullia was startled when, upon entering her mistress's chamber, she found herself face to face with the Emperor.  
  
He was pacing the floor in front of the large window which over looked the city below. The sun was beginning to set, and its last rays silhouetted the skyline of Rome - its tall buildings, triumphal arches, the vast wall of the Coliseum. The sun's last rays illuminated the statues which crammed the forum, its white marble Basilicas, the gleaming temples with their altars caked with the blood of innumerable sacrifices.  
  
Commodus was regarding the view silently. He turned as Tullia entered the room.  
  
She bowed respectfully to him and he watched her silently as she placed the jug of wine of a small ebony table beside her mistress's bed. She wondered where the lady was, and why the Emperor was waiting here. Her face grew hot as she realised that he was continuing to watch her. She felt a desperate urge to flee the room. yet knew she had to wait for her Mistress.  
  
Slowly, ever so slowly, Commodus walked across to her. He held out his hand, imperiously and Tullia dropped to her knees to reverently kiss the fingers of her Emperor, as was the custom. She remained kneeling, her face down, as he stood over her, arms folded.   
  
"Gaul" he said, his voice sending shivers of joy along her spine. "You're a Gaul?" Tullia nodded, feeling afraid. This was the first time he had ever really spoken to her, yet he knew what she was.  
  
"Yes, My Lord" she replied, in a small, frightened voice  
  
Commodus smiled "Tullia" he said, a blank statement. Tullia jumped as she heard his lips form her name. How did he know? Her mind whirled in confusion.  
  
"Yes, My Lord?"  
  
He reached out and lightly traced her jawline with his finger. Tullia's head began to swim with confusion ... and excitement.  
  
Her eyes met his and her face began to burn with red hot fire. His eyes, filled with sparking green fire under their sculpted black brows, were regarding her intently.   
  
"You've been a good servant to my sister" he said, turning back to the window. "You're not married yet, are you?"  
  
"N-no, My Lord, I'm not" Tullia stammered in confusion. Surely this was a dream.  
  
"Hmmm. I'm suprised that my Sister has not decided to make a Freewoman of you. Unless, that is, she values you too much."  
  
He turned and walked slowly over to Lucilla's bed. Wearily he sat down on it and commenced, silently, to stare at the floor for a few minutes in silence. Tullia stood, her mind throbbing with excitement, fear and wonderment at the situation she was in.  
  
After what seemed like an eternity, Commodus spoke.  
  
"She is beautiful, my sister, is she not?" he asked, looking up at her.  
  
"Oh yes, My Lord" Tullia responded, enthusiastically. She had always been proud to have a mistress who was not just illustrious of rank but unparalleled in beauty by any woman in Rome.  
  
Commodus brooded in silence for a moment. Tullia could sense he was in pain.  
  
"and yet I ...." his voice was soft, reflective, strangely human for the divine figure of the Emperor " am so ugly, ugly...."  
  
Tullia felt a wave of shock hit her. The ludicrous nature of his words were enough to shock her. Commodus was regarded as an exceptionally handsome young man by the eligible maidens of Rome. Tullia thought him quite beautiful. "Oh no, no no My Lord ...." Losing control she forgot the impropriety of speaking before the Emperor as the words escaped from her lips.   
  
"Ugly" he continued. "A disgrace to my family, a disappointment to my father, to the extent that he would adopt a common soldier as his divine son in my place..... and my sister hates me"  
  
Silent tears were flooding Tullia's cheeks. Her body shook with the effort it took not to pull him into her arms. She was unaware of the huge revelation he had just made to her - about his father's appointment of Maximus. Her mind was in too much turmoil.  
  
Her mouth opened of its own accord, the words found their own way out. "No My Lord, No, please don't ever say that. You are all .... you are ......"  
  
Her words caught with the sob in her throat. Tears were pouring down her cheeks and her body was shaking so much she could hardly stand. She grasped the bed post to keep herself upright. She knew she was going to break down - to collapse. Commodus was watching her silently, his own body shaking with emotion.  
  
"Tullia" he said, in a choked voice. He held out his arms to her.  
  
The world collapsed in a blur as Tullia found herself in his arms, crushed against his hard chest, his arms around her. He pressed his beautiful lips onto hers in a passionate kiss. Losing her last vestige of control, Tullia returned it, giving herself over to the emotions which had raged through her body for so long.  
  
Tullia knew she would never forget that night. She had told him everything that was in her heart. She had held him close to her as he cried, she had told him what he was, what he meant to her. Her mistress did not return - or if she did she left so silently that neither of them noticed. They had loved together through the dark hours, he had made her his over and over again. eventually she had fallen asleep, held tightly in the muscular arms of the man she loved.  
  
He was no longer the Emperor of Rome. Not to her, not that night.  
  
He was hers.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
He had invited her to his bedchamber several times over the weeks since that night. He had poured out all that was inside him, and Tullia had allowed herself to indulge in the sensation of being able to soothe and comfort him. He had told her of Maximus, his jealousy, his anger at the love his father had shown the General. He had told her of his love for Lucilla. It didn't shock Tullia. Most of the Slaves had already sensed it. Besides, she herself loved her beautiful mistress.  
  
However, during the day he had been The Emperor, had kept council with his Senators and his sister. Tullia had been a slave, nothing more.  
  
Her heart had almost shattered when she had heard the announcement that The Emperor intended to fight the Spaniard - Maximus - in the Arena. She knew why. But the decision shocked her.  
  
It would be a fight to the death. And Maximus had never yet been beaten.  
  
She hoped she could talk to him - to dissuade him, but she had seen nothing of him from then until this day - he spent his evenings with his nephew and his sister in private. Tullia knew something was brewing. Her Mistress cried constantly, she heard raised voices, the Emperor's angry shouts. Her Mistress slipped out at night alone.  
  
Tullia had carried out her work with a pain in her heart and a fear tearing at her brain.  
  
She would lose him.   
  
Not that he could ever be hers. She was a slave. He was the Divine Augustus of the Roman Empire.  
  
Only in those nights when he became simply a man in her arms needing her love and comfort was he hers.  
  
On the morning of the Contest Tullia had dressed her Mistress with shaking hands. She knew she would be required in the Imperial box. She would watch the Contest, watch Commodus slain before her eyes.  
  
Or watch him triumph and break his sister's heart.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Two of the occupants of the imperial box watched as the contest unfolded, full of a cold fear and foreboding. There could only be one victor. One heart would have to be broken.  
  
Tullia knew of her Mistress's love for Maximus. She did not want to see her suffer. She knew how much her Mistress feared her brother, and longed for freedom from his control. The death of Commodus would free her and Maximus.  
  
She knew she should put her Mistress's happiness first. Her Mistress had been through so much pain.   
  
But so had her Mistress's brother.  
  
Tullia had sent offerings and prayers to the gods to protect the Emperor, to spare his life. However, she had no wish for her Mistress's beloved to die. She had begged the gods that the contest might not go ahead, but, it seemed, they had ignored her pleas. A soul was desired by the underworld, although whose was yet to be decided.  
  
Below in the Arena the fight seemed to be drawing to its painful conclusion. Both combatants were exhausted, their movements hampered by their heavy armour. Sweat ran down Commodus' handsome face, his green eyes fixed menacingly on his opponent - on his every move, anticipating what Maximus would do next - how he could best defeat him. The big Gladiator was suffering badly from the concealed wound beneath his armour. It pained him, Commodus could see and he was losing blood heavily. Eventually he would collapse, weak from blood loss and Commodus could make his move. until then, he had to watch, to anticipate, to fend off blows from the wicked-looking sword clutched in Maximus' expert hand.  
  
Both men were bleeding from wounds. Maximus had sustained several cuts, and his tunic was dark with blood from the wound in his side. Commodus brow was smeared with blood, his nose, his lips were cut, his dark hair mated with a mixture of blood and sweat. Yet still he faced the Gladiator, the man who had caused him so much suffering, as he thought - his rival for the love of his father and sister.  
  
The man who was everything Commodus longed to be, yet never could.  
  
Maximus faced the man who had tried to murder him, had murdered his beloved wife and son, had destroyed his life and was now threatening the life of his dear Lucilla. Rome did not need Commodus. No one loved him - he was hated and feared by all. It would be a service to Rome to despatch him to the underworld.  
  
In the Imperial Box the two women's hearts were pounding frantically. Neither felt they could stand to watch for another second.  
  
Commodus lunged at Maximus once more, directing his sword at the Gladiator's abdomen. In a lightning move, despite his pain and unbearable weakness, Maximus fended off the blow with his own sword, slashing Commodus' sword from his grasp, sending it flying high into the air until it fell to rest with a loud clang some twenty feet away.  
  
Before Tullia's eyes the scene seemed to take place in slow-motion. she saw the gladiator swung his sword, heard the clang as metal hit metal, and saw the Emperor's sword torn from his grasp. She watched its flight across the Arena open-mouthed, hearing the crowd draw in its breath as one united body.  
  
Commodus had stumbled. He lay at the Gladiator's feet, his body propped up on his elbows, unarmed, defenceless while Maximus stood over him, the point of his sword directed at Commodus' heart.  
  
Commodus broke into a cold sweat. He scrambled to get out of range of the Gladiator's sword. Glancing round desperately at his guards, he appealed to them.  
  
"My sword???" "Give me my sword??"  
  
His voice was full of terror.  
  
The guards stood motionless. It was not their place to intervene. This had been a fair contest. The loser - whoever he may be - faced a just death.  
  
Maximus remained poised over the prone, shaking body of the Emperor. "One thrust" he thought "One jab of this sword and justice will be done. All of us, I, Lucilla and Rome will be free. . .". He raised the weapon ready to plunge its tip into the Emperor's heart.  
  
"No ....please".  
  
There was a scream from nearby. Out of the corner of his eye a figure flew across his field of vision, falling to cover the Emperor's body as the point of Maximus' sword descended.  
  
He felt his sword pierce flesh. There was another scream - but not that of Commodus.  
  
The scream of a woman.  
  
Dropping his sword in panic Maximus struggled to focus his eyes on the Emperor.  
  
Commodus had rolled to one side, just far enough to avoid his heart being pierced by the sword. He was half sitting up, clasped in the arms of a young woman.  
  
Maximus studied her in confusion. She was a slim, dark haired young woman - a slave from her dress. She was bleeding heavily from a wound on her shoulder - a wound her realised that he had just inflicted on her. Shaking uncontrollably, tears streaming down her pretty face she knelt beside the Emperor, her arms about him. She was looking up at Maximus with a look so beseeching, so full of pleading and fear, that Maximus' heart gave a painful twist.  
  
"Please ... " she gasped "please .... don't. Please.........spare him...?"  
  
The desperation in her voice tugged at Maximus' heart. He heard the voice of one begging for a life to be spared.  
  
A life she loved.  
  
They way his wife would have begged Commodus' soldiers to spare her son. The way he would have begged for his family's lives if doing so would have saved them.  
  
The Emperor was shaking. Sweat and blood poured down his face, streaked with dirt and tears. He clutched the young woman like a frightened child, and his once sparking green eyes met Maximus' blue ones, like a little boy's, full of terror.  
  
He was the most pathetic sight Maximus had ever encountered.  
  
A combination of contempt, exhaustion and weakness from blood loss overtook Maximus, and he slumped back, only to find himself caught up in a pair of smooth, white arms.  
  
Opening his eyes painfully he gazed into the face of his beloved Lucilla.  
  
Silently she pulled him close to her. "Maximus" she whispered, through her tears. "Oh Maximus, please don't leave me again.".  
  
Weakly, he raised a hand to cover hers. She noticed the blood pouring down his side from his secret wound, and gave a scream of horror.  
  
"A stretcher!" she cried to the guards behind her "Bring a stretcher, and a physician - quickly. He's bleeding badly." When no one moved she screamed fiercely at them "NOW!"  
  
She turned her gaze to meet that of her brother - the poor, mad frightened thing, clinging to her maidservant, who also was bleeding profusely. He looked so obscenely like the child he had once been, rocking in Tullia's arms as his world, his plans crashed down around him. Lucilla's fear of him suddenly began to evaporate.  
  
She motioned for the guards to tend to the injured Tullia, who did not want to let go of Commodus. She resisted their attempts to coax her to her feet and clung even tighter to him. Lucilla saw them, two frightened children in front of her, rocking together, beseeching her to spare their lives.  
  
She wanted to spit with contempt.  
  
Commodus met her gaze.  
  
"What do you want, Lucilla . . .?" he asked, in a shaking voice.  
  
Lucilla looked at him in silence for a few moments.  
  
"Justice" she replied, solemnly. "Everything that was taken from Maximus to be given back to him. My freedom - freedom to be with my son. Freedom from your threats - from fear and pain. Its yours to give."  
  
Commodus' shook silently as he watched her, his lips quivering. He turned his head slowly and buried in against Tullia's heaving breast.  
  
"Whatever you want. . . " he gasped. "Take it. Take it all. . . ."  
  
He made no further sound, just continued to rock silently in Tullia's arms. Lucilla turned her attention back to Maximus who by now was strapped to a stretcher, while the surgeon of the Arena examined his wounds.  
  
"Will he live?" she asked, terrified of the answer.  
  
The surgeon regarded her for a moment, then nodded gravely.  
  
"He's lost much blood" he said solemnly "But he's strong, and with proper care he will recover"  
  
Lucilla stood, realising the importance of dealing with the situation.  
Call my private Physician, and give him everything he needs."  
  
She glanced down at Maximus, now unconscious. His handsome face streaked with blood and sweat - shed for her - for all he loved."  
  
"It will be all right my dearest love" she whispered "Your fight is over. I won't ever let you go again."  
  
As the guards took Maximus from the Arena, Lucilla turned her gaze back to her brother and Tullia. Her maidservant had fainted, but Commodus still clung to her. 'Maybe his last shred of sanity has broken', thought Lucilla.   
  
She could not feel anger towards him. Only sorrow.  
  
The other maidservants had arrived at the scene, and stood behind their mistress, watching the scene in horror and amazement. Lucilla motioned to them.  
  
"Take Tullia to my quarters" she ordered. "Dress her wounds and call the Physician to tend to her." The ladies nodded and with the help of a guard extricated the limp body of the girl from Commodus' embrace. The guard helped the Emperor unsteadily onto his feet. Lucilla gave him her shoulder to rest on, and between them both he limped, painfully out of the Arena.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *   
  
The summer had brought a good crop from the vineyards. Soon the slaves would be working at the wine presses and the delicious scent of the grapes would flood the Villa. Lucilla loved that smell. It reminded her of her childhood spent in Tuscany - happy times with her mother, father and brother at her side.  
  
Those times were gone forever. Never to return. But they had been replaced by a new life - one that promised to be equally if not more happy.  
  
Maximus had eventually recovered from his injuries, strong as the doctor had said he was. His recuperation had been slow, but sure, nursed at the villa in the beautiful hills of Tusculum, with Lucilla by his side. They had been married shortly afterwards. Lucius lived with them, and he was soon to be joined by a small half-brother or sister, whose birth was eagerly awaited in the next few days. Lucilla was truly and completely happy, as she knew Maximus was.  
  
She knew she could never erase the pain he had suffered, the terrible wrongs her brother had committed against him. She could never bring his wife and son back. But she could give him another family, another home and all the love in her heart, which she hoped would compensate in some little way. Lucius loved him like a father, and Maximus spent many happy hours teaching the boy to ride and to fight, as he would have done his own son. Lucilla was happy that her son had such a great man to call Father.  
  
She saw little of her brother now, and never with Maximus. An unspoken bargain had been made that the Emperor and the General would never again set eyes on each other. "If I ever do" Maximus had vowed, solemnly "I'll kill him". Lucilla knew he meant it. But they were safe and happy now in their beautiful home, far from the city of Rome and all its cares, toils, troubles and pain. After all their sufferings the gods had granted them peace.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * *   
Commodus had requested Tullia's freedom from his sister. He had been intent on marrying her and making her his Empress. The Senate had refused to even consider the prospect of a Gaulish ex-slave becoming the wife of the Emperor. Commodus had raged and railed against them, daring them to deny the wishes of their Emperor, threatening them with the most dire retribution. The Senate grumbled and complained about the Emperor's madness, his unreasonable demands and outrageous behaviour. It was only by Tullia's gentle coaxing and pleading that he had been urged to abandon the idea, and to eventually accept the Senate's plans for his marriage to the daughter of a wealthy and eminent Senator.  
  
Tullia knew that she could never be more than Commodus' mistress. Yet it was enough for her to know that she held a position of prime importance in his life, that he loved her, in his strange and tortured way, as no other, and needed her. He did not love his wife, neither did she love him, although she loved dearly the title of Empress and all that went with it. They were the Official, Imperial Couple, who appeared together in public and in matters of state as was required, yet behind the doors of the Palace they went their separate ways - the Empress to her lovers, her enjoyment of fine food, wine, clothes and feasting, and Commodus to the lavish set of apartments he shared with Tullia.  
  
Three months after his marriage, Tullia presented him with a daughter, Lucia. The effect on Commodus was immensely gratifying to Tullia and all around them. As he gazed down into a tiny pair of sparkling green eyes which mirrored his own, he was overwhelmed with emotions he had never before known. He stroked his daughter's tiny face with his finger and felt the overwhelming sense of love she generated in him. He fell to his knees in front of his beloved Tullia and clasped her to him, thanking her for the wonderful gift she had given him.  
  
Tullia had hoped his daughter's birth would change him - might begin to heal his damaged mind. It was, however, impossible to erase the scars of his twenty-nine years of existence on a mind already deeply unstable. There was a definite and perceptible alteration in him - slow and gradual at first, continuing and strengthened by the birth a year later of their son, Gaius Aurelius.   
Commodus grew calmer, seeming more content, less driven to scheme and rail and fight against the world. He worshipped Tullia - she was his goddess, his mother, his lover, the rock on which he leaned.   
  
It was strange to think that the ruler of the world's greatest empire had given himself totally to her keeping. Tullia feared for him - for the future. There was much discontent at court, rumours of plots against his life, in which the Empress was involved. His sanity was desperately fragile. She wondered whether he even would live to see their children grow up. Yet she forced herself to concentrate on the present, on her family, who needed and loved her. With Commodus, Tullia was able to see behind his position and power which had blinded so many, to see the person he was underneath, a frightened and insecure man, who needed her to soothe his troubled mind and help him cope with the huge demands life fate had laid at his feet. He was her Emperor, yet he was also her lover and the father of her children - in some ways, he was another child who needed her care.  
  
She had devoted her heart to him, however, and would never forsake him. The gods had answered her prayers - but had placed his life in her hands for safekeeping. Tullia held him close to her, wondering for how long she would be able to keep him safe.  
  
  
  
Commodus ruled for twelve years, and was eventually assassinated on the last day of 192 AD in a palace coup - allegedly strangled in his bath by his masseur. He had been the first Emperor for over a century to inherit his position from his father. He was suceeded after a year which saw the appointment and fall of four different emperors (193AD) by Septimius Severus, who founded the famous Severan dynasty of Roman Emperors.   
  
His wife, and his sister, Annia Lucilla, are rumoured to have been among those who plotted against him. 


End file.
